But the pacing? "Pirates" sets up an infernally reliable pattern of exposition/action/exposition/action. It goes something like this: There's a trial ... then a daring escape! ... a standoff with haughty King George ... then a chase through cobblestone streets! ... a sitdown with Jack's dad ... then a swordfight while balancing on wine casks! ... an intimidating speech to mutineers by Blackbeard ... then animated ropes attack the men! And so on.

When seamen venture into mermaid territory and, without a sound, are met by a pretty young girl hanging on the side of their boat staring at them, it's a creepy moment. Of course, before long, the boat is attacked by a squadron of mermaids, who have fangs and can fly like the vampire chicks in "Van Helsing." A scene of almost Lewtonesque suggestion becomes just another CG extravaganza.

As Jack, Depp continues his impression of Rolling Stones guitarist Richards. Depp slurs and wobbles and teeters on his boots and holds his hands up oddly when he runs. It's all a burlesque, and refreshingly different from the kind of infallible hero we've seen in action movies for the past 30 years.

Cruz does all her sexiness with her eyes, though the bodice works its magic, too. Geoffrey Rush gives a hammy, lusty performance as who's-side-is-he-on Barbossa. Ian McShane proves again to be the Teflon baddie as Blackbeard; he spins gold with any line he puts his lips to. Stephen Graham — who plays Al Capone in "Boardwalk Empire" — provides excellent support as trusty Scrum. Richard Griffiths — Uncle Vernon in the "Harry Potter" films — is hilarious as withered King George.

Richards returns for another cameo as Jack's dad. You wish he would devote a little more time to these films. C'mon, Keef, you still have the energy to film a swordfight. You know you want to.

When Paul Reubens got caught doing God-knows-what in a Sarasota adult theater in 1991, it looked like we would never see Chairry again. Or Clocky or Globey or Conky or Jambi or Miss Yvonne or Cowboy Curtis or Mailman Mike or the King of Cartoons. Hey, this was a guy who starred in a Saturday-morning kiddie show, committing an extremely lewd act. That's grounds for banishment from the human race, right?

A generation later, the children who grew up watching "Pee-Wee's Playhouse" — looking remarkably non-traumatized — flocked to see Reubens' Broadway revival of the show, often accompanied by their graying parents. Because, after all, "Pee-Wee's Playhouse" was an adult parody of old kiddie shows ("Howdy Doody," "Captain Kangaroo") disguised as, well, a kiddie show. Children of the '80s and '90s laughed at the sheer goofiness of it; adults laughed at its mild innuendo.

Amid a wide stage that faithfully recreates the colorful set of the 1986-91 series, Reubens and company revive, and tweak, old routines (with bits mixed in from his 1981 HBO special, which inspired the series) and introduce some new characters.

Original cast members Lynn Marie Stewart (Miss Yvonne), John Paragon (Jambi) and John Moody (Mailman Mike) return. To honor the memory of Phil Hartman, who was murdered in 1998, Reubens chose not to recast Hartman's character, Captain Carl. Recast newbies include "MADtv's" Phil LaMarr (filling Laurence Fishburne's boots as Cowboy Curtis) and Lance Roberts (replacing "Blacula" star William Marshall as the King of Cartoons). New arrivals include Jesse Garcia as dancing handyman Sergio, Josh Meyers as a fireman, Drew Powell as a bear who resembles one on "Captain Kangaroo" and Cowboy Curtis' frilly horse.

Reubens doesn't exactly look ageless as Pee Wee — at 59, he has understandably lost much of the manchild's lankiness — but there's no substitute for the real thing. Stewart, too, is pushing it; luckily for Paragon, green makeup hides a million sins.

There is a palpable sense of glee among audience members, who are clearly delighted to be revisiting a treasured childhood memory. The result is a love-in.

A bonus feature is commentary by Reubens, director Marty Callner (who also helmed the 1981 HBO special), Stewart, Paragon, LaMarr, Garcia and others. Comments by Lexy Fridall, who voiced Chairry, and Roberts are patched in. LaMarr says Fishburne wants to "play himself" in the movie version. The commentary gives you an appreciation for the amazing puppeteering of the show.

The PJs: Season 3$19.98, Lionsgate

Perusing Eddie Murphy's output since 1999 — cinematic treasures like "Dr. Doolittle 2," "The Adventures of Pluto Nash" and "Norbit" — really enhances your appreciation of "The PJs," an uncompromising animated sitcom set in the projects and a hallmark of Murphy's spotty career. He is co-creator, executive producer and, on the first 29 episodes, supplied the voice of series protagonist Thurgood Orenthal Stubbs, the ineffective superintendent of a dreary apartment building, the Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs Project. (LH-J was a Sweathog in "Welcome Back Kotter," yo.) In its depiction of lovable, quirky characters pursuing happiness amid urban decay, "The PJs" is fearless. Name another sitcom that has wrung laughs from poverty, shootings, crackheads and rats.

But the show is not all bleak. The cuteness of the clay-animation process provides ironic contrast, imbuing the often dark "The PJs" with a weirdly cheery, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer"-style look. And "The PJs" is, in essence, a heartwarming sitcom about a dysfunctional extended family.

The third, final season (2000-2001) finds "The PJs" still firing on all pistons. Recommended episodes: In "Scarthroat," marginalized Sanchez becomes drunk with power while doling out supplies during a Y2K (remember Y2K?) meltdown following a New Year's Eve party. In "Cruising for a Bluesing," Thurgood and pals reform their old blues band and brave some dicey blocks in search of Muddy Guy's, the club they once played. In "It Takes a Thurgood," Juicy and Calvin find a homeless girl sleeping in the boiler room. But this homeless girl is wearing designer duds; Sharique (Wanda Christine) was orphaned from a privileged household, and must take elocution lessons from Thurgood in order to fool HUD ("The mac on crack is sho' nuff wack"). In "Clip Show," Thurgood is interviewed in a parody of "The Actors Studio."

There are 18 episodes on two discs, totalling more than seven hours of viewing.